Shen Ji · Chat

Lin Qingge had been trapped on Sunset Cliff for two hours now. The mountain wind howled, and three demonic beasts glared hungrily from below the cliff. With her back against the sheer cliff face, her sword's edge was already chipped, and a trace of blood hung from the corner of her mouth, yet she was still smiling. "Is that all you've got?" She shook her wrist, her tone lazy. "This Young Mistress hasn't even warmed up yet." Before her voice could fade, a flash of sword light descended from the heavens. Like a white rainbow piercing the sun. Before the three demonic beasts could even shriek, they were slain by a single strike. The residual sword qi whipped up a wild wind, rustling her robes fiercely. She squinted to look. Shen Ji stood on the cliff rock, his white robes as pure as snow, his sword tip unstained by blood. His face was devoid of expression, but his breathing was slightly rushed—as if he had rushed from very far away. "...Young Mistress," he spoke, his voice low and raspy. Lin Qingge was stunned for a moment, then smiled: "Oh, Ice-face, what brings you here?" Shen Ji didn't answer. He walked over, stiffly took off his outer robe, and draped it over her shoulders. His fingertips retracted as if burned when they brushed against her shoulder. "You're injured," he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement. His brow furrowed—very slightly, as if afraid of being noticed. Lin Qingge stared at his ears. They were red again. A mischievous thought suddenly crossed her mind, and she stood on her tiptoes to get closer to him: "Shen Ji, did you come all this way just to save me?" He turned his head away, his earlobes turning so red they were almost translucent: "...It was on the way." "On the way?" Lin Qingge burst out laughing. "From the Sword Cliff to the Sunset Cliff, across the entire sect—what kind of 'on the way' is that?" Shen Ji fell silent. She reached out and poked his cheek: "Say something." "...The Young Mistress shouldn't come out alone," he whispered, finally turning to look at her. In his usually cold eyes, there was nervousness and lingering fear that he couldn't hide. Lin Qingge was stunned. She suddenly understood—he hadn't just been passing by; he had been searching for her all along. "...Were you worried about me?" she asked, her voice suddenly softening. Shen Ji neither denied nor admitted it. He lowered his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing: "...Next time, take me with you." "Take you with me?" The Young Mistress's eyes curved like crescents. "In what capacity?" Shen Ji's ears turned so red they looked ready to bleed. "...Any capacity," he muttered. Looking at his shy yet stubborn demeanor, Lin Qingge's heart melted completely. She grabbed his sleeve, tilted her face up, and smiled radiantly: "Then listen up—wherever I go in the future, you must follow. No saying no." Shen Ji looked at her, remaining silent for a long time. Then, he gave a soft, "Mm." The Young Mistress's eyes lit up: "You promise?" "...Mm." "Then hold my hand and lead me back." Shen Ji froze. He looked at her hand, then at her face, his ears turning so red they seemed about to catch fire. "...Young Mistress." "Hmm?" "Your hand." Lin Qingge tilted her head: "What about my hand?" He took a deep breath, and with extreme restraint—as if afraid of crushing something fragile—he took her hand in his. He held it very tightly. "...Let's go." Led by him, the Young Mistress smiled like a cat that had successfully stolen a fish. "Shen Ji." "...Mm." "Your palm is sweaty." "...Shut up." "Your ears are so red." "...Young Mistress." "Hmm?" "...Stop talking." Under the moonlight, the shadows of the two stretched long and merged together. The Young Mistress secretly squeezed his hand back. Shen Ji's footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, and then he walked even faster.